Shindu Fallah Na
by Anyia
Summary: A collection of moments that occurred when the Scourge attacked Quel'Thalas, mostly from Lor'themar Theron's perspective. Hints of Lor x Syl.


Lor'themar thought he was hearing things when the first two blasts of the horn rang through the woods and above the loud clanging of his blade against the death knight's shield.

The third blast, longer and higher-pitched, was what threw him off-guard.

The death knight's blade came at him in a downward slash, too quickly for the ranger because of his distraction. He attempted to jump backward to dodge, but it he was too slow. The tip of the knight's blade tore a diagonal gash down from his forehead and across his left eye. He staggered backwards and the death knight pressed the attack.

"Lor'themar!"

The death knight suddenly stumbled and fell on its side, and Lor'themar did not hesitate to jam his blade through the narrow opening between its helm and gorget. He twisted it roughly for good measure. The creature convulsed, then lay still. An arrow of elven-make jutted out from behind the death knight's knee, lodged within the chink in its leg armor.

Halduron came running up to him, pale-faced and with bow in hand. "Lor'themar, your eye!"

Lor'themar could feel the searing pain of the cut, and knew that it wasn't just the gushing blood that was blinding him. The wound on his face was not the only injury he suffered thus far. He angrily yanked his blade out of the death knight's throat. He could hear Halduron speaking to him, but his voice sounded so far away.

But when horn's three ominous notes came from the distance, they resounded clearly to Lor'themar. _They're breaking through. _He shoved past Halduron, ignoring his friend's hollers as he started to run.

The sounds of battle around him seemed muted as he tore his way through the devastated woods, swiftly cutting down the lesser undead he had to pass by. His entire body was screaming from the strain, but he didn't care. Only one thought was on his mind, driving him on like a madman.

_Syl_.

* * *

The horns were silent by the time Lor'themar reached the city's broken walls. The stench of death was everywhere, emanating from the very ground itself. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like bursting, and every breath he took left a dry, searing pain in his throat. His wounds, especially the one on his face, were burning like fire.

The bulk of the Scourge army had entered the city, leaving only destruction in its wake. The horns had gone silent. That meant… Lor'themar stabbed his blade into the ground, leaning the weight of his suddenly shivering form against it.

_The Ranger-General has fallen. _More than that, the final lines of defense, led by Thalorien Dawnseeker, had fallen.

Lor'themar grit his teeth hard, pulling his sword out of the ground and bracing himself for another sprint. Maybe the Scourge could still be prevented from reaching the Sunwell. Surely the King—

A cacophony of loud shrieking pierced his ears and interrupted his thoughts. He flinched, one hand covering an ear and the other fumbling to keep his sword steady. Before the flight of banshees that emerged from the city's walls reached him, he saw a flash of light and felt himself being pulled away from tainted ground.

In the blink of an eye, he rammed backwards into the priestess that saved him, the momentum knocking them both to the ground.

The priestess scrabbled to her feet, attempting to pull Lor'themar up with her. "Are you _mad, _Lor'themar?!"

Lor'themar staggered to his feet and was about to run back to the break in the wall when the priestess threw herself against his back, latching onto his torso tightly and pulling him back.

"Let me _go_, Liadrin!" He bellowed, attempting to wrench her arms off him. "I have to—"

"You have to _die in vain?" _she cried, her voice breaking from her despair and the effort to hold the ranger in place. "The Sunwell is _lost_, Lor'themar! Can you not feel it?"

Lor'themar froze, realizing that the fatigue he felt wasn't just from his wounds or the effort of all the fighting and running. He felt…drained.

Liadrin's grip began to slack, and he felt her weight sagging on his back. He let his blade drop to the ground and he turned to face her as she slid to her knees, her entire body trembling with exhaustion and her shoulders wracked with sobs. She must have put all of her remaining mana into that spell to save him.

"The Light…" she murmured at first, then looked up at the ranger wildly. "The Light has _abandoned us_, Lor'themar!"

The words hit Lor'themar like a tidal wave, but he forced himself to reach for the priestess with a trembling hand. "We're not safe here, my lady," he managed to say. Liadrin looked up at him, mutely, and allowed him to pull her up. Lor'themar retrieved his sword before willing himself to walk away from the city's ruins to regroup with any surviving rangers.

* * *

Halduron found Lor'themar sitting on a rock, hunched over with his elbows on his knees and his hands folded. The wound on his face was bandaged roughly, the blood still soaking through the fabric. The surviving priests, Liadrin included, barely had any mana left to heal the wounded. It was the best they could do for now. Lor'themar's pale blonde hair remained disheveled, with most of it obscuring the rest of his face.

Halduron didn't have to look his friend in the eye to know what was written there. "Sir," he said, gently, hoping the honorific would snap him back to reality. "We've gathered all the survivors we could find. The prince is on his way."

Lor'themar nodded silently.

Halduron pressed his lips together tightly. His entire mouth suddenly felt very dry. "We couldn't find her body."

Lor'themar remained silent, but his hands tightened their grip on one another. Halduron took a deep breath before he continued speaking, attempting to control the quavering of his own voice. "Some of our scouts report they saw it on a meat wagon."

Lor'themar looked up with an unmasked expression of shock. Halduron looked away, hating how his words were breaking his friend's heart. "I'm sorry, my friend. I…I know she was your…"

"Not mine," Lor'themar murmured, in a tone so blank and dead that it pained Halduron to hear it. "Never _mine_." The final word was punctuated by a sudden burst of anguish and regret that it made Halduron flinch.

A deafening silence that seemed like an eternity followed, with Halduron finally turning his back to Lor'themar and gazing at the survivors they'd gathered. Only a handful of rangers remained, and they had gathered a few civilians along with a couple of mages and priests. All injured in some way, and reeling from the loss of their Ranger-General, their King, and their precious Sunwell in one fell swoop.

_They've broken us in more ways than one, _Halduron thought, feeling his chest tighten painfully. Halduron heard the rustling of leathers and clinking of mail, and turned to see Lor'themar getting back up on his feet.

"We should move," Lor'themar said, willing the authority back into his voice. "Away from…" He looked over at the stretch of dark, dead soil that tore its way through the once pristine forests of Quel'thalas. "That _scar_."

Halduron's expression hardened as he pressed a fist to his chest and bowed. "At once, sir."

Lor'themar continued staring at the scarred land as Halduron made his way back to speak with the remainder of their people. Where did she fall, he wondered, and how? Did she suffer? Was she bold and defiant to the end?

He blinked back the tears forming in his eyes, ignoring the sting of the salt on his wounds. If he had been with her, would things have turned out differently? Would she still be alive, giving the orders and managing the survivors instead of him?

The ranger shut his uninjured eye tightly, his hands balling into shaking fists. Things would have turned out differently if he hadn't befriended the _traitor_, Dark'han Drathir. If he hadn't told the magister about their defenses, about the gates…

Lor'themar fought back the urge to scream into the emptiness, into the trail of death the Scourge left behind. No amount of weeping, mourning, wailing, or Scourge-slaying could change what happened. There was nothing he could do now but keep what remained of his people whole until Prince Kael'thas reached them.

"_Shorel'aran_, Sylvanas," he whispered to the wind, hoping it would carry the words to wherever she was, before rejoining his people.

* * *

_I started this months ago, with the intention of making a long, multi-chapter fic...but I ultimately decided to keep it in its raw state. I feel the frantic speed of these moments and lack of proper transitions reflects the combination of panic, shock, and anger I figured Lor'themar felt at the time._

_...then again I could be making up excuses for being lazy. You guys tell me if it works. :p_

_P.S. I'll be 'shipping Lor'themar and Sylvanas forever. Official lore be damned._


End file.
